and we painted our hearts with the colors of our pain
by nutella and a pencil
Summary: because it's harder to heal. 1/100 I am still not brave/I am still not selfless/I am still not a hero/But then again, is anybody?


**Not enough Beetee fics out there.**

**And then (somehow) this happened.**

**Look at me, barely using the prompt.**

**oh yeah, I forgot to mention, it's for the dictionary challenge in the Hunger Games Contests and Character chat or something like that's dictionary challenge.**

_prompt; against_

_word count: 724_

* * *

My father was an ordinary man.

Sure, he was smart.

But everyone, no matter how average, excels in something.

He was not brave. He was not a visionary. He simply taught physics to a class of university students who could, quite honestly, care less

Now, I loved my father.

So, _maybe, _he was not brave, he was not revolutionary, but he was a good man.

I have yet to understand why he died.

It was under the pretense of treason.

_Treason! _My father!

Impossible.

And there _are _impossibilities.

And the sky is not the limit.

* * *

My father did not teach me a great many things.

I tried to listen –no really, I tried—but I can't really remember much of anything of what he taught me, he being a man who thought that telling me laws of physics created by people of the Old era were good bedtime story material.

I can tell you it was not.

But I remember one thing he taught me.

It was before he died.

The last thing I heard him say.

_For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction._

* * *

A man stands tall near the Justice Building.

_For every action_

He is shoved to the ground, glasses shattering and falling to the ground.

_There is an equal_

The man lifts his head, silently refusing to bow.

_And opposite_

A gun is raised to his head.

_Reaction_

There is a bang and there is metal and there is a dead body on the ground.

* * *

Since then, I have realized there are more silent ways of protest.

I started to observe the people around me for signs of rebellion.

I mean, if I had missed that my own father, a normal, average man, had been _treasonous, _then I was obviously doing something wrong.

After all, if the people of the Capitol are going to push and prod and shove against us, then there will be a time when we will retaliate.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, right?

So I watched for signs of unrest and I went to school, and then I watched some more.

Because I, like my father, am not brave. I am not selfless. I am not passionate and willing to give my life. I'm not a hero.

So I did nothing.

The Capitol did not do the same.

They continued the games, they continued the killings, they continued massacring children.

* * *

When I was reaped, I was not _that _shocked. After all, I was in for a fair amount of tesserae and District 3 is not all that big.

And I am nothing if not realistic.

So, I went into the arena with a 1:24 chance of getting out, and I did. How unlikely.

Almost impossible.

I guess I just didn't want to die.

* * *

When I got back to three, I went back to my routine of watching and waiting, except I did it from a bigger house.

Life (almost) went back to normal.

So I still watched and waited for the Capitol to push too far, and the districts to rebel and fight.

I mean, there has to be a point when the districts are tired of being pushed against a wall.

There must be a time when they realize who the enemy is.

* * *

And then came Katniss.

She was the hope for the rebellion.

The girl had spunk and fire and passion, but she was not a hero. She was not selfless. She was not _brave._

She couldn't whip subdued people into a frenzy just by speaking.

She was action and flames and indecisiveness.

The rebellion was all but dead.

* * *

It seemed as if I underestimated the girl.

Katniss, I mean.

She was able to fan the flames.

And now we have a full on rebellion and people dying, and me stuck in a room with explosives and a talking bow.

Looks as if the people are finally working against the Capitol.

Effectively, maybe not, but the districts have nothing but time to give their _equal and opposite reaction._

* * *

It has been two years.

Two years since we won.

Two years since we got tired of being oppressed, tired of being leaned on.

Two years since I bombed innocent children.

And I am still not brave.

I am still not selfless.

I am still not a hero.

_But then again, is anybody?_


End file.
